At my joke, he narrowed his eyes with a beautiful smile. Then he slid his hands beneath my arms and pulled me into a tight embrace. Our bodies, still joined, pressed closer. There was no escaping his gaze, fixed intently on me from mere inches away. “We’re dating, right?” “…” “I’m your boyfriend now, aren’t I?” He didn’t whine or plead. His voice was pleasant, calm, and quiet as a whisper. I tried to hide my expression by brushing the back of my hand across my lips, then hesitantly reached for the arm holding me. “We’re both… past the age for saying such things out loud.” “But I want to hear it this badly. Can’t you endure being embarrassed for just a moment?” “……” “Tell me clearly.” This time, I detected a slight tremor in his voice. It wasn’t a confident demand, but a plea, filled with entreaty. His words rustled like dry leaves. In the past, I couldn’t hold him back, fearing my emotions would overflow. But now was different. We lived in the same city. Barring some catastrophe, distance would no longer constrain us. There was no need to lie to my own heart. My hand, which had been stroking his arm, traveled up to his shoulder and neck. Feeling a flush of embarrassment, I playfully pressed his cheeks, deliberately teasing his handsome face. “I thought you were more mature than your age. But seeing you like this, my boyfriend really is younger than me after all.”